


Your best American boy

by PeterParkers7EvilExes (antimone_ii)



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Also he's 18, Intercrural Sex, Kinda AU, KindaDark!Tony, M/M, Mary and Richard Parker are still alive, Peter is a Little Shit, Power Dynamics, Smut, This is just porn with way too much plot is what I'm saying, and Tony is still Iron Man, not that that matters really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/PeterParkers7EvilExes
Summary: Maybe it’s the culmination of everyone pinching his cheeks and talking down to him all night, or maybe it’s the way Tony keeps smirking at him, but Peter is seized by a sudden desire to punch Tony Stark in his stupid smug face.“I’m notjust a kid,” Peter snaps, and when his mother cries ‘Peter!’ in a scandalized voice, he juts his chin out at Tony. “I’m anadultand I’m perfectly capable of making an apology,sir. Now if you wanted a kissass to give you some fake soliloquy about how you’re so great, I’m sure you can find someone here who’d be happy to.”Tony finally drops his condescending smirk and for the first time, he’s looking at Peter with something like understanding. His eyes bore into Peter’s and he feels a cold thrill go down his spine as the stupidity of what he’s done sinks in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I was thinking about how Pete's whole "aw shucks" humbleness comes from being raised by Ben and May, and if Mary and Richard Parker were still alive, maybe he'd have more of a Tony complex and come out a little brattier and then 4700 words later I had porn.   
>  So AU in that regard, also Peter was never bitten by a spider and also he's 18 in this.

Peter _definitely_ isn’t supposed to be in this part of the lab. He’s already pushing his luck breaking off from the group and it’s only a matter of time before someone notices. Still, he _really_ wants to see the new nanotech Stark was flashing at the expo, and when in Rome…

Ducking through a lab door, Peter glances around for any lingering technicians and makes his way through the rows of tables and monitors.

He finds what he’s looking for at the end of the room in a revolving cylinder case, illuminated with soft white lighting. (“Showy, that Stark,” Peter can practically hear his dad snorting.) There’s a nanotech sheet inside - the material keeps shifting, detaching and reassembling fluidly like it’s made of mercury.

“Whoa,” Peter breathes, squinting through the glass. He hurriedly flips open his notebook and begins sketching and jotting things down, when --

“Got lost on your way to the MOMA?”

Peter yelps, his notebook flying through the air. There, in the reflection of the glass stands Tony Stark himself, wearing a deadly expression Peter’s only ever seen on the TV directed at international threats.

Stark reaches for the notebook quicker than Peter can retrieve it and he flips through the pages. “You know, I could have you arrested for IP theft,” he says smoothly, raising an eyebrow at Peter.

“Not if you stole it first,” Peter says before he can think. Stark’s head snaps up and pins Peter in place.

“What did you say?”

“Uh.” Peter instinctively takes a step back, his retreat cut short by the glass case. “The binding formula,” he says, tilting his chin up in a show of bravery he isn’t himself quite convinced by. “Oscorp patented it two years ago with their synthetic PER hairpins. You’ve copied the same formula.”

Stark takes a purposeful step toward Peter, who tries backing up again. “You can’t _patent_ the way DNA intrinsically works,” he says scathingly, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. “You’re Norman’s, what, his new lackey? Did he mention how _I_ first used the formula a _decade_ ago?” He asks, pocketing Peter’s notebook.

“Hey!” Peter cries, but Stark levels him with a look. “I’m not anyone’s _lackey_.”

“Care to explain why you’re snooping around my labs and singing Norman’s tall tales?”

Peter hesitates, staring up at Stark who’s less than a foot from him now. His heart hammers uncomfortably loud in his chest as he starts to panic. If Stark figures out who his parents are, they’ll almost certainly be in hot water just by association - ‘ _stupid, stupid, stupid_ ,’ Peter chants helplessly in his own head.

Stark gets tired of waiting for an answer and grabs Peter’s arm _hard_. He makes a pained noise, but Stark doesn’t seem to notice. Then Peter finds his face and torso pressed up against the glass case as Stark pins both his arms behind him in a painful hold.

“Stop, you’re hurting me!” He protests, but Stark just presses him harder into the glass. He wriggles his shoulders but all that does is make Stark twist his wrist, eliciting another cry. ‘ _There’s that Iron Man strength_ ,’ Peter thinks with some delirium.

He feels one of Stark’s hands moving over his shirt like he’s feeling for something.

“I’m not _wearing a wire_ ,” Peter grumbles, glaring over his shoulder as best as he can in his predicament.

“No, Oscorp’s a little too fancy for wires, aren’t they?” Stark says. “You know, you’re not a great spy to begin with.”

“I am _not_ a spy,” Peter says impatiently. “God, you’re seriously paranoid.”

Stark pauses in his search and Peter sees his reflection give a slow smirk. “No shit,” he says, his words breathed hot and close to Peter’s ear. “I’m _Tony Stark_.”

And oh god, this is _not_ the right time or place for Peter to suddenly get an erection but there’s that classic Parker luck -- and then there’s a hand on his ass and Peter squeezes his eyes shut --

“Huh. What’s this?”

Stark loosens his grip as he rifles through Peter’s wallet, searching the measly contents: a Cold Stone gift card from Ben, six bucks, MJ’s senior photo and his student ID which reads:

“‘Parker, Peter Benjamin, Midtown Tech’ -- huh.” Suddenly Stark is flipping him around and studying his face, and Peter is _certain_ he’s turned bright red and prays that Stark doesn’t look any lower. “ _Huh_. You Mary’s kid?”

Peter has another moment of internal panicking before he says, very quietly and very quickly, “Pleasedon’ttellmymom.”

A slow grin spreads sharklike over Stark’s face. “Oh I think that’s the least of your worries right now, Mr. Parker.”  
  


\--  
  


Tony is a big fan of the Parkers’ work. Well -- no. Truthfully Tony’s resented the Parkers for the greater part of his youth. “Beacons of the future,” Howard Stark used to say pointedly, raising a glass to the idyllic couple while Tony got steadily drunker in the corner of whatever cocktail bullshit party they were at. Just another set of people Howard wished his son could be.

So when Tony met the Parkers for himself at an expo event years later - free of Howard’s influence lingering over him - he was disappointed to find them charming, clever and gracious. Their work in radiochemical PETs? Revolutionary.

It doesn’t surprise Tony that their son shares their brilliance. His attitude though -- that’s something else entirely.

Tony flips idly through the Parker kid’s notebook, working through his second drink of the night. Most of it’s just notes from class, doodles and games of tic-tac-toe where he’d clearly gotten distracted, but there’s some original work in there too. Compounds Tony isn’t familiar with, probably from some assignment the kid was working on.

By the time Tony gets to the notes on his nanotech sheet, he’s feeling just buzzed enough to pick up a pen and begin writing out detailed responses to each of Peter’s observations. The kid’s bright, he reasons, he’s earned _some_ answers. And, Tony thinks some more, it couldn’t be easy being raised by two internationally renowned scientists -- who could relate better to that than the son of Howard Stark?

So Tony jots down his private email in the margins of the page and, before he can dwell on it much more, he tosses the notebook aside, throws back the rest of his glass, and goes to bed.  
  


\--  
  


As it turns out, Tony Stark _does_ rat Peter out to his parents. He’s allowed to rejoin his class (although Stark keeps his notebook), and Peter is foolish enough to think he’s gotten away with his little adventure.

He only knows he’s in the shit when he gets home and his parents’ car is parked outside - Richard and Mary Parker _never_ leave work before 7pm. He gets a thorough lecture about the virtue of respecting the scientific community and “Not spouting off whatever gossip Harry tells you”.

The punishment’s about the worst of it -- Peter is to attend a gala with his parents the following week and apologize to Tony in person. It’s the injustice of it all that makes Peter go to bed fuming at Tony Stark, cheeks burning with humiliation. And if Peter wakes in the middle of the night with his dick hard and leaking still thinking about Tony staring him down, well. Peter keeps that to himself.  
  


 --  
  


The gala, hosted at Stark Towers, is set to commemorate a scientific publication. These events are their own form of punishment for Peter -- he’s always the youngest person there by far, and everyone within a ten mile radius seems to take his parents’ fame as blanket permission to pinch his cheeks and ask invasive questions.

“He looks just like you, Richard!” coos one of his parents’ colleagues. “Now where are you going to university, my boy?” The old woman asks, reaching into Peter’s space to tweak his tie. “Have you got yourself a little girlfriend?”

“ESU, no,” he says stiffly, trying to back away.

Before he can make his escape though, his mother puts a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder and steers him into the crowd. “Do you have your apology ready?” she asks, patting Peter’s unruly hair down for the tenth time that night.

“Yes,” he grumbles, earning himself a sharp look.

Keeping a tight grip on her son, Mary waits for an opening in Tony Stark’s entourage and marches Peter ahead of herself into his circle of admirers.

Tony cuts an intimidating figure in a royal blue suit and red sunnies (they’re _indoors_ , for Christ’s sake), and a gold pin with the MIT crest on his lapel to top it off. “Mary and Peter Parker. So glad you could make it,” he says, smirking at Peter with a self-satisfied look.

Tony and Mary exchange pleasantries for a bit while the rest of his entourage filters away. When they have some relative privacy, Mary squeezes Peter’s shoulder pointedly. “While we’re here, Peter has something he’d like to say to you.”

Peter gives his mother one last, beseeching look, but she shakes her head firmly. He turns back to Tony, who watches him with amusement. He squirms a little and says quickly. “I’m sorry for looking around your labs and calling you a thief.”

There’s a long pause, and when it becomes clear that this is all Peter intends to say, his mother cuffs the back of his neck. “Pete!”

Tony laughs and holds up a hand. “No, Mary, it’s fine. Look at him, poor boy’s embarrassed.” At being called out like that, Peter’s face only grows hotter. And maybe it’s the culmination of everyone pinching his cheeks and talking down to him all night, or maybe it’s the way Tony keeps smirking at him, but Peter is seized by a sudden desire to punch Tony Stark in his stupid smug face. “He’s just a kid, no need to put him--”

“I’m not _just_ a _kid_ ,” Peter snaps, and when his mother cries ‘ _Peter!_ ’ in a scandalized voice, he juts his chin out at Tony. “I’m an _adult_ and I’m perfectly capable of making an apology, _sir_. Now if you wanted a kissass to give you some fake soliloquy about how you’re so great, I’m sure you can find someone here who’d be happy to.”

“Peter _Benjamin_ Parker!” Mary hisses, and Peter knows he’s effectively grounded himself into eternity with that move.

But Tony _finally_ drops his condescending smirk and for the first time, he’s looking at Peter with something like understanding. His eyes bore into Peter’s and he feels a cold thrill go down his spine as the stupidity of what he’s done sinks in.

“Fair enough,” Tony says, and he smiles a little at Mary’s stunned expression. “You know, I think Mr. Parker and I got off on the wrong foot. Clearly he’s got some words to say and I’ll be honest Mary, it’s refreshing as hell to hear someone tell it to me straight.” Tony gestures at Peter, ignoring his dumbfounded expression. “Mind if I steal him away?”

Mary too seems a little shell-shocked, so she wordlessly lets Peter go. Tony clamps a hand down on his shoulder with a smile, and Peter wildly imagines his mother handing a lead over to Tony.

Just as before, Tony’s grip is surprisingly strong as he guides them back through the gala and toward the elevators at the back of the building. “You got some kind of courage, kid,” he says. “Well, courage or idiocy. One of those. Either way, looks good on you.”

Peter glares up at him, even as apprehension flares in his chest. “It’s not courageous _or_ idiotic to tell some rich jerk when he’s being a jerk.”

Tony steers him into a sleek elevator and punches in a code, lighting up the top button on the panel. “No? So what would you call yourself then, if not a courageous idiot?”

“Honest,” Peter says bluntly.

Tony lets out a loud bark of laughter, his fingers curling tight around the back of Peter’s collar. The elevator eases to a stop with a soft _ding_ , and the doors slide open to the penthouse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter glares up at Tony, even as apprehension flares in his chest. “It’s not courageous _or_ idiotic to tell some rich jerk when he’s being a jerk.”  
> “No? So what would you call yourself then, if not a courageous idiot?”  
> “Honest,” Peter says bluntly.  
> Tony lets out a loud bark of laughter, his fingers curling tight around the back of Peter’s collar. The elevator eases to a stop with a soft ding, and the doors slide open to the penthouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn ahoy! As a reminder, Pete's 18 in this.

As Tony Stark leads the way into his penthouse, he looks back at Peter. “You planning on staying in that elevator all day?”

Peter shakes his head and quickly follows. He stands awkwardly in front of Tony's kitchen bar, watching the older man pour himself a drink. When he's done, he takes his amber glass over to the adjoined sitting area and lounges himself in an armchair, raising an eyebrow at Peter expectantly.

Peter then notices, to his surprise, his stolen notebook sitting on the black coffee table - he'd fully expected Tony to throw it away. He looks over at Tony and asks hopefully, “Can I have that back?”

“You gonna apologize properly?” Tony asks coolly, watching Peter over the rim of his glass.

Peter freezes. With a little jolt of fear, he realizes that the suave, easy-smiling version of Tony who'd charmed Mary Parker into handing over her son is no longer in front of him.

“How do you plan on convincing me to give it back to you?”

Peter looks at Tony's spread thighs, a dumb, stupid, bad idea formulating in his head. He cautiously makes his way around the armchair until he's standing in front of Tony. He watches the older man carefully and, when he doesn't make any move to stop him, Peter sinks slowly to his knees. “Like this? ...um, sir?”

Tony smirks above him, his eyes gone dark. “Smart boy.” And like a switch Peter's dick hardens in his pants. He runs shaky palms up Tony’s thighs, reaching for his belt and unzipping his no doubt expensive trousers.

Tony doesn't make a move to help, watching impassively as he swirls his glass in his hand.

Trying not to think about how quickly and eagerly he got to his knees, Peter gingerly takes the older man's half-hard cock out. He glances up at Tony again, and the man just gives him a challenging grin.

Fine, he can work with that. He leans forward and sucks the head into his mouth without preamble. The smell and the taste of him immediately get Peter leaking in his pants -- it's nothing like sucking his exes off in the back of a car, it's _so much better_. Tony's undeniably thicker and even just the warm head of him stretches Peter's lips wide, forcing him to flatten his tongue against the underside of his cock to fit any more in.

Peter takes in a steady breath through his nose and sinks down slowly, inch by inch, until he can feel the thick tip nudging persistently at the back of his mouth. He stays still for a moment to even out his breathing, his eyelids fluttering as he feels Tony's cock slowly fill, hot and heavy on his tongue.

He chances another look up at Tony and, to his frustration, sees him watching with that same almost bored expression. Peter makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and gets to work, nodding his head with shallow, quick little movements. He hears Tony groan “ _Oh hell_ ” above him and he grins as best as he can with a mouthful of dick.

As he concentrates on keeping his gag reflex in check, Peter doesn't feel Tony's fingers winding through his hair until he's working him deeper into the tight squeeze of his throat. “That's it baby,” Tony murmurs in a low voice, and he grips Peter by the hair and holds him fast in place. Arousal and panic shoot through Peter’s chest as he tries to surface, but Tony's firm grip keeps him still, choking and coughing around the cock stuffed down his throat. “You're doing so good. Let me take it from here, huh?” Even as he struggles to inhale, Peter glows with pride to hear how wrecked Tony's voice has gotten.

After a few more seconds, Tony releases him and raises his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip as he watches Peter gulp for air.

“Look at you,” Tony murmurs, petting the back of Peter's head. “You ready for more, sweetheart?”

Peter wants to snap at Tony, tell him off for pulling a stunt like that but honestly, he can't think further than the straining erection trapped in his slacks, so he just breathes in shakily and nods up at Tony.

“Smart boy,” Tony smiles, almost kindly, and he winds his fingers into Peter's curls again and guides him back down onto his cock.

This time he's ready for it and gulps in a breath before he sinks down. He takes Tony deeper into his throat, whimpering when his muscles tighten in anticipation.

“That's it, that's it.” Tony's fingers tighten in his hair again and he shakes Peter's head lightly, fucking his throat down onto his cock.

Peter imagines how he must look with a horrible exhilaration; suffocating on Tony Stark's dick while he uses his throat like a fleshlight. It makes Peter moan in a pathetic gurgle and he grinds his palm hard into his own leaking erection, his lungs screaming for air.

His whole body is strung taut with lack of air and his head feels like it's going to explode -- he wonders dazedly if Tony will keep fucking his face after he passes out -- when he's finally let up and he sucks in a greedy breath, his heart hammering in his ribcage.

Tony seizes him by the arm and hauls him up into his lap, and he blinks to clear the lights from his eyes. “And you were doing so well, too,” he hears the older man say with disappointment.

He shudders as Tony slips two calloused fingers down the front of his slacks and realizes he's come all over the inside of his underwear. He flushes under Tony's stern eyes as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean.

“Oh my god. That-- that was the best orgasm of my life,” Peter gasps, his senses coming back online.

Tony stares at Peter for a beat, then barks out a surprised laugh. “Well I'm not done with you yet Mr. Parker,” he said. “I wanna see this pretty little cock.” He pushes Peter's pants down his thighs and squeezes the tip of his oversensitive dick. Peter jumps in Tony's lap with a full-body shiver and, flushing bright red, hurriedly moves to peel off his slacks.

There's something erotic in the humiliation of being perched in another man’s lap, naked from the waist down while Tony's still fully dressed but for his hard cock out. He reaches for said cock, but Tony stops him with a firm hand around his wrists. “No, I think you're done calling the shots here,” he says in a voice that brooks no argument.

Peter shudders at his words, his eyelids fluttering shut and Tony makes a pleased sound.

“God, you're a treat,” he tells Peter, tugging him closer so he can hold his jaw tight and suck harsh, bruising kisses into his throat.

Peter whines and claws into the front of Tony's dress shirt. “Parents,” he protests weakly, “they'll ask--”

Tony chuckles low in his chest. “You afraid? Scared your _mommy and daddy_ will know you've been gagging for it?” and, oh Jesus, Tony talking down to him like that shouldn't make Peter hard again but it does.

Dropping his head down against Tony's collarbone and gasping for air, Peter vaguely registers the sound of a lid uncapping. He exhales when he feels slicked, blunt fingers pressing against his hole. Peter whimpers and tenses up as the first finger sinks in to the knuckle, but Tony shushes him and runs a gentle hand over the small of his back, petting him through it. He muffles a groan in Tony's shoulder when another warm finger presses in to the base, slow and unyielding.

Tony gives Peter a moment to breathe, even kisses the top of his head like he’s comforting a scared animal, then circles his fingers achingly slow inside of Peter, rubbing almost tenderly against his walls.

Peter whines when he’s capable of breathing again, scrabbles at Tony’s shoulders and bucks his hips impatiently. “More,” he demands, pressing his ass back into Tony’s fingers. It’s - he’s going out of his mind being teased like this, and he shifts back and forth because he _knows_ Tony’s fingers are _right_ there -- “ _Ah_!” He shudders bonelessly into Tony’s chest and he can feel Tony's shoulders shaking with laughter as he presses the pads of his fingers _hard_ into his prostate. “Fuck, more, please please please, I need more,” he babbles.

Tony obligingly presses in a third finger, groaning as Peter’s hole takes it easier than the first two. “God, I wish you could see yourself,” he growls into the crown of Peter’s head. “You ever fuck yourself like this at home, baby?”

“ _Ahh_ , n- not like this,” Peter says, his hips squirming as Tony’s thick clever fingers stretch deep into him.

“Bet you can’t be too loud, can you? Not with your parents asleep in the next room,” Tony teases, and he rubs insistently against his prostate, making Peter sob as pleasure lights up his spine. “Don’t want them to hear you fucking yourself on your skinny little fingers, huh? What would they think?”

“ _Ple-a-se_ ,” Peter is practically crying now, grinding his ass back onto Tony’s fingers like there’s any more to take.

“What do you need, baby?” Tony asks sweetly as if his own hard cock isn’t leaking against his abdomen. “Use your words, you’re such a clever boy.”

“Fuck me, _please_!” Peter sobs, his thighs clenching around Tony’s waist and nearly delirious, he reaches blindly for Tony’s cock, aching to feel it stuff him up.

He’s stopped once again by Tony’s free hand, quicker and more lucid than he is right now. Tony squeezes Peter’s wrists together, tight enough to be painful and yanks him close so they’re eye-to-eye. “I don’t think you _deserve_ my cock,” Tony says meanly, a downright wicked look on his face.

“What?” The words take a moment to process in Peter’s sex-addled brain. “Wh--”

Tony jerks his wrists like a lead. “You’ve been such a disrespectful little brat all evening. Mouthing off to me, embarrassing your mommy and daddy in front of all their friends. And spoiled little brats don't get what they want, do they?”

“Wha… No, please please _please_ ,” Peter whines, so dismayed at the thought of not getting Tony’s cock in him he can’t even think to be ashamed of himself. “Please, sir, I sucked you, I did what you said--”

Tony shakes his head in disappointment. “No, you only behave once you _want_ something. That won't do at all, sweetheart.” He curls his fingers deep in Peter's ass, rubbing slow against his walls until Peter is writhing on his hand, too far gone to do more than beg. “Such a clever boy,” he praises, pulling Peter in by his wrists so he can suck another mark into the hollow of his throat. “Why don't you fuck yourself on my hand and show me how nice and polite you can be, hm?”

Peter huffs out a breath but nods, desperate to take whatever he can. “Yes sir, please, I’ll do anything,” he moans as he rolls his hips down eagerly, his pink dick bouncing against his stomach.

Tony leans back in his seat, watching him with hungry eyes until there are tears streaming down Peter’s cheeks. “That’s it. Tell me how it feels, sweetheart.”

Looking up through bleary eyes, Peter rocks his hips frantically and babbles, “F- Feels good sir, your fingers feel so good, 'm so full, w- wish it was your cock but I-- I'm so grateful sir, thank you--”

When Tony’s finally satisfied, he takes pity on him and releases his wrists to take Peter's cock in hand and stroke him hard and rough. “See baby, that wasn't so hard. You _can_ be good, can’t you, not always such a little brat?” Peter's sobbing picks up with ‘ _thank you sir thank you thank you_ 's and he comes with a sob all over Tony's dress shirt.

Peter pitches forward into Tony's chest, shivering and moaning through his second orgasm. He's too dazed to do anything but hang limply when Tony stands them up and throws him over the arm of the sofa, but he turns his head, panting open-mouthed as Tony shucks his pants down to his thighs, taking his handsome cock in hand.

“Please,” Peter gasps between shallow breaths, although he's not positive what he's asking for -- _please no more, please yes, please did I do good_?

Tony reaches around Peter's hips, presses his shaking thighs together and steadies a hand over the swell of his ass. “Keep those pretty legs nice and tight for me, sweetheart.”

Peter turns his face into the cushion and shudders as he feels Tony slide his warm cock between his thighs. He does his best to keep his muscles tensed together, whining at the sensation of Tony's cock rutting fast and rough between his legs.

Tony leans over him as he thrusts hard and deep, forcing his back into a lewd arch and fisting his hand into Peter's hair to tug his head upright. “Use your words, baby,” he growls, slamming his hips against Peter's and filling the room with obscene smacking noises.

“Feels good sir, I love your cock, want it so bad,” Peter cries, his fingers digging into the armchair when he feels the blunt head of Tony's cock catch on his stretched rim as his thrusts get faster, less controlled. “Want it, want it in me, I c- can't wait to be good next time, I want it so bad sir, please, I'll be good--!”

Tony comes with a sharp groan of his own, snapping his hips hard against Peter's ass and shooting his release all over the insides of his thighs and over his aching hole. As he recovers, he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses into the back of Peter’s neck, over his shoulders, down his spine. Peter hums contentedly, shivering as he feels Tony's come dripping thick and warm over his balls, down his inner thighs.

When his breathing’s evened out, Tony stands back up and manhandles Peter upright to turn him around. He strokes a surprisingly gentle finger down Peter's cheek, and Peter unconsciously leans into the touch. “Look at you,” Tony says admiringly. “Who'd think, Mary and Richard Parker’s sweet, clever boy?”

Peter's brain has come back from the sex haze enough now that he squints up at Tony. “Mr. Stark, that was… the best sex of my life, but _don’t_ patronize me.”

Tony has a smug look on his face. “You didn't seem to mind it when you were riding my hand like a hungry little slut.”

Peter recovers his humility and turns red. “That's different,” he grouses. “You can condescend me again next time.”

“So, you are open to a next time?” Tony asks, his voice careful.

Peter grins a little shyly. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, are you stupid? I _just_ said this was the best sex ever. Yes, I'd like-- uh, if, if you're open to it too,” he adds quickly.

Tony snorts. “Yeah, I’ll keep my schedule open.” He leans over to the coffee table and picks up Peter’s notebook, handing it to him. “This belongs to you.”

“Oh.” Peter flips through the pages, surprised when he sees Tony's neat handwriting scrawled next to his own. “You-- you wrote in here?”

Tony shrugs as he pulls his belt back on and paces back to the kitchen to make himself another drink. “You've got brains kid, I wasn't _just_ interested in making you come all over my furniture.”

There's a lightness in Peter's chest that he's 90% sure is more than just sex endorphins. “Cool,” he says, pulling on his own (mercifully, mostly unstained) pants. “Umm, my mom is probably looking for me so,” he gestures toward the elevator. “I'll, uh, I'll… see you around?”

Tony gives him a long look and smirks. “Yeah kid, if that's what we’re calling it.” He calls the elevator and sends Peter back down to the gala, his notebook clutched tight in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://peterparkers7evilexes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
